


The Ballad of Mona Lisa

by thediamondskies (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Character Death, Eating Disorders, M/M, Self-Harm, Ziam Ficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:31:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thediamondskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight Liam will go home with his hand-prints on his hips and ugly, misshapen love bites, and he won't ever forget his night in London with <i>the</i> Zayn Malik.  Written for <a href="http://malabami.livejournal.com/1880.html?thread=20056#t20056">this</a> prompt over at the Ziam ficathon!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ballad of Mona Lisa

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt got away from me. Mostly dark and fucked up story of Zayn the Rockstar and his distant love for Liam.

Zayn Malik is not a teen idol.

He smokes and he drinks, he openly endorses prostitution. He thinks marijuana should be legal, and he's driven drunk enough times to have a two DWI's and a revoked license.

Not that it matters; he's got a personal driver, anyways.

His best friend and personal assistant is Niall Horan; Niall is small, Irish, and too easy-going to be his assistant. He lets him get away with too much and does the bare minimum to ensure he does all that he's supposed to by all the deadlines. He and Niall used to fuck, long ago, a distant memory in a faraway backyard in Bradford. Niall says it makes him sick to even think about such things.

His sole bandmate is Harry Styles; Harry's unique in that he's impossible for the public to understand. He sleeps with guys and he sleeps with girls, and he does anything he wants, and when the cameras and the tabloids ask why he says _why not?_   No one knows how to deal with that. They can't process someone as graceful as Harry because he doesn't seem real enough. Harry sometimes dates, mostly fucks a London socialite named Louis. Louis' a bit vapid and posh, but when he's around harry his personality's a bit more likable. Or at least tolerable once Zayn's got some drugs in his system.

"You're on in five," Niall says, peaking his head in the dressing room. Zayn's surrounded by stylists, make-up artists, hair dressers, vocal coaches. He's singing _do re mi_ and getting powdered and Lou keeps messing with his hair. Some days he wants to roll his eyes at all the bullshit; he doesn't really care if he looks pretty, he wants to be on stage. He'll sweat it all off anyways.

But the label want him to look 'classy' this tour. They want to release tons of pictures to the press and clean up his image after the whole 'punching England's sweetheart' incident.

As if he gives a fuck about punching some dumb bender front Kent who won the last series of the X Factor.

When he finally makes it backstage, Harry's there waiting. They always dress him so wholesomely compared to Zayn's all black and leather. His curls must have mouse in them, the way they bounce around but still stay in place, and they've done something to make him look even younger than he is, so much more angelic. He smiles at Zayn as they hand him his specially designed drumsticks, twirling one absently.

"You ready, Jaanu?" he says in in usual drawl ( _Jaanu_ , because it's the only word that zayn taught in in urdu that he ever cares to remember). He sounds a bit slower than usual. (Must be on vicodin again.)

Zayn snorts, raising his arms as his signature sparkling silver guitar is placed over his shoulder.

"Places," Niall shouts, ushering them under the stage. From here Zayn can hear the roar of the crowd, the opening rifts of their intro song. Right now they're watching footage of him and Harry at a staged party. It must be the part where a girl's bouncing up and down on him, because that's always when the crowd really goes crazy. He smirks every time, because they probably don't think he was actually fucking her. (He was.)

Harry stands beside him in his usual stance: feet spread, head cocked with a smirk. Zayn's got his guitar at the ready, watches the trap door slide away and bounces slightly as the podium starts to rise. He gets his first view of the crowd and smirks like he doesn't give a fuck.

"London!" he scream, hitting his first note on his guitar. "What the fuck's up?!"

The sound is absolutely deafening; he swaggers down the stairs to the main stage and plays the notes he knows like the back of his hand while Harry rushes forwards and starts the first verse.

A girl flashes him her tits in the first row; he winks at her.

—

The thing that makes him and Harry so popular is simple: confusion. Their music makes no sense, therefore it is inciting. His voice is soulful and seductive; Harry's voice is rocky and mischievous. He plays guitar and Harry plays drums, but often times they're just fucking around while a backing track thrums. They're unpredictable because sometimes Harry will go fucking mental on stage, and sometimes Zayn curses up a storm or smokes a joint right in front of the crowd. (They never set an age for their shows, but most parents don't dare to let their kids come to their concerts.)

Zayn seems him in the middle of the ninth song.

He looks so out of place; most of the kids who come to see them are grungy, or even just rebellious looking british youth; this kid is... wholesome. Too clean to be in a crowd of dirty sinners and misfits. Zayn sees him, and he wants him; that's it. He points to the kid in the crowd and has Paul yank him. Every so often he side glances stage left and sees him looking at him, wide eyed.

Good, he'll be easier to fuck that way.

—

His name is Liam. Just turned seventeen, sweet little boy from Wolvo, and he blushes at almost everything Zayn says. Granted, he doesn't say anything that would ever be considered vanilla, so he has reason to be flustered.

Zayn takes Liam back to his hotel room without asking; as far as he's concerned them fucking is a definite and not a possibility. Liam has that air about him like he feels blessed to have been picked from the sea of faces in the crowd, and Zayn knows that he can gets just about anything he wants out of him.

"Wow, you're room is so... big," he exclaims, looking around with those sweet innocent eyes.

"Mhmm," Zayn replies, pulling him in close. "It's a good way to lure in the prey."

"Prey?" Liam croaks. He's scared; Zayn loves that. He loves tainting them, really. Tonight Liam will go home with hand-prints on his hips and ugly, misshapen love bites, and he won't ever forget his night in london with _the_ Zayn Malik.

In bed, Liam is quiet and reserved. He mostly pants as Zayn kisses down his stomach, the muscles convulsing underneath his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut and doesn't watch as Zayn pulls his jeans and underwear away.

Zayn doesn't suck dick for anyone, but he loves watching pretty little things writhe on his fingers. Most boys don't know the pleasure that comes from it; Liam is no exception. His eyes go wide and his mouth opens and shuts. Zayn knows what he wants to ask: _What? How?_ He smirks and watches, waits until Liam is trembling before grabbing his cock. He licks his own lip, biting down on the flesh as Liam cums all over himself, legs jumping now and again from the pulse of an orgasm.

Zayn slides into him not even a moment later, smiling as Liam tries to push him away. He's overstimulated; Zayn likes to watch them squirm and sob out and try to understand the blatant want and not-want of being fucked so soon.

"You like that?" he teases, burying himself deep inside. He grinds his hips in slow circles and bites at Liam's neck as his whole body starts to tremble. His dick has started to get hard again between them, and Zayn kind of misses being that young.

He goes slow for what feels like ages, until there's a heavy sweat built up between them. Liam gets impatient, starts whining and bucking his hips like he really wants it.

"Zayn," he whimpers, brown eyes slipping open.

Zayn smirks mischievously. "What?" he says, suddenly slamming into him, "You want it like that?"

Liam kind of yelps; it's too cute. Zayn snaps his hips harshly again, and again. And once more, until he's not pausing between thrusts anymore and Liam's body is jolting against the bed. The slap of their skin is barely audible behind Liam's constant helpless moans. He tosses his head back and forth on the pillow and his long, curly hair sticks to his forehead, pretty pink lips quivering. Zayn can feel his own release coming, rushing up on him like a fast-tracked train. He's not really thrusting anymore, just slamming up against Liam with his dick deep him, a shaky hand jacking him off in a hurry. Liam's fingers curl into the sheets and his panting gets louder, and then his back is arching off the bed and he's cuming again, full body shakes. It's enough to bring Zayn off, to have him groaning deeply and empty himself into the condom.

Liam's making these quiet little 'huhhh' noises, trembling beside him as Zayn throws the condom in the trash, clearly overwhelmed. He's not sure why, but Zayn leans over him, kissing his cheek as he pets his skin with his thumb. He lets Liam stay the night because he's too beautiful to let go.

"You destroyed that kid," Niall says the next morning after Zayn sends Liam off in a private car.

Zayn smirks as he takes a drink of his black coffee, raising an eyebrow, "Maybe. But it was fun."

Harry appears, texting away on his phone. More than likely, it's Louis. "That kid with the curly hair and doe eyes? I don't think he looked that bad."

Niall snorts, "You didn't see the bruises all over his skin this morning."

Harry shrugs and give Zayn a high five as he passes him, smacking him on the bum afterwards.

"He loved it," Zayn admonishes. He saves him as 'Liam London' in his phone.

—

He texts Liam two weeks later and tells him to come down to London for a visit. Liam, of course, doesn't says no.

Zayn picks him up at the train station with two bodyguards in tow. Somehow, the paparazzi find out that he's there, and there are tons of cameras and even more questions. Zayn ignores them and smokes calmly, eyeing the train tracks. He see Liam almost instantly, dressed just as Zayn instructed; baggy cloths, a hat, and sunglasses. He's mostly undistinguishable. He'll go back home to Wolvo on Sunday and no one will know he is.

"Hello, London," he says once Liam gets into the car, spreading his lips immediately for a deep kiss. Liam tips his head back and lets him.

The don't really talk much the rest of the weekend. Mostly Zayn smears his sweat and cum into Liam while they roll around in the sheets, and when Liam nods off he watches him sleep. Once, when he does a line, Liam asks if he can too, and Zayn scowls at him and calls him a twat. It embarrasses him. He can tell by the way he retreats into himself. Zayn gives him a blowjob so he'll forget about it.

He doesn't want to think about the fact that he _wants_ Liam to stay untouched and plain, or the fact that he'll do just about anything to keep him that way, including giving him a blowie.

—

"Louis' throwing us a party!" Harry exclaims with a smile. Hair and make-up's been working on them for about half an hour now. To his left, Zayn sees Nicola bring in a rack of clothing. He picks out a tattered jumper, ripped jeans, and combat boots, flicking his fingers to send her away.

"I'm not going to a Louis party. His parties are pretentious and mundane," zayn replies. He's still a bit pale from his last bender, so Anabelle adds a bit of color to his lips. He scrunches his nose; there's nothing he hates more than wearing fucking _lipstick_.

Harry pouts in his chair, and Leslie makes an annoyed sound before shuffling off, giving the new guy room to showcase what they've got on rack for him. "C'mon Jaanu-boo, Louis' got me a special present for my birthday."

Zayn glares at him; Harry's birthday is the one thing he can't say anything about. Harry loves birthdays like a kid loves christmas. This year he turns nineteen, something he's been dreading because it was the exact age his sister was when she died of an overdose. Harry doesn't like to admit he's anything like Gemma.

"Fine, whatever," he relents. He thinks for a moment, before pulling out his phone and going through his contacts, hoping to find someone who will get him catastrophically spliffed up and fuck him in the bathroom.

Instead he stops at 'Liam London' and decides he wants to see his Mona Lisa.

—

The party amazes Liam. All the crystal chandeliers and expensive art and waiters walking around with _hors d'oeuvres_ and _Dom Perignon_. He has stars in his eyes, so Zayn lets him drink as much as he wants and snorts when he discretely spits caviar into a napkin, giving Zayn a sheepish grin.

"You like him," Niall says when Harry takes him to meet Louis. He himself enamored by Zayn's sweet little thing.

Zayn snorts and covers his fear with a glass of champagne, side eyeing Niall as he raises his eyebrow in challenge. He decides on a shrug of his shoulder. "He's alright," he says casually.

He doesn't like the way Niall's looking at him; he seems too sweet on the idea of him fancying this kid.

Zayn walks away and sneaks up behind Liam, wrapping a loose arm around his waist. "I think I have to go to the bathroom," he mumbles lowly, biting the side of his neck. Liam blushes, and Louis rolls his eyes, turning instead to Harry who immediately beams at him and leans in for a kiss. As he drags Liam to the loo he thinks to himself, _I'll never be like that_.

He slams Liam roughly against the wall and yanks his trousers down, spitting into his hand to wet the condom and ignoring Liam's vague words of concern because he just doesn't _care_. He's seen this kid twice; he means nothing to him. He's just a baby, unstained by life's messy ways, and Zayn loves anything dressed in imperceptible white. He fucks Liam rough and dirty and pushes his head hard against the wall, grunting through his teeth as he pounds into him, and he _doesn't fucking care_. Liam might not like it, but he's moaning anyway, a slave to his own body's needs. At some point Liam wraps his hand around his dick and Zayn can see his arm jerking back and forth rapidly. He comes long before Liam and doesn't look at him as he loses it against the wall, spurting onto the off-white title.

"We should get back," he says absently, zipping up his fly. Liam doesn't say anything in response, but he allows Zayn to wrap his arm around his waist.

Liam ignores his calls after that.

—

Six months pass.

Zayn dates a pretty blond named Perrie who looks candy sweet on the outside, but fucks like a Dutch whore. Everything is good and well until her puking catches up to her and she goes to rehab for bulimia. The public blames him, claims he led her down a disastrous path. Most parents ban their kids from his shows, and more records sell in response. He and Harry get another number one single, win a brit, and guest star a BBC mini series.

Somewhere along the way Harry's drug use gets worse. He doesn't notice at first; most the time he's high himself, but Niall starts spending more time dragging Harry around than squeaking over Zayn. Zayn hates it. He's always been the star of the show. Harry was just his pretty, likable sidekick.

The press latch on to his self-destruction, sympathize with him even. Zayn does more coke and gets angrier and soon he doesn't want Harry anymore. He's sick of his charisma, and his snotty boyfriend, and sharing the stage. The coke says that Zayn doesn't need Harry, so Zayn says he doesn't need Harry. He decides to leave the band, and Harry begs him to stay. He looks so lost, and Zayn knows he's hanging on by a thread, but he needs to be free of Harry and his shit. He has his lawyer do most the work and ignores Harry's calls.

Harry lasts about three months on his own before he has a mental breakdown in the middle of the BAFTAs. Zayn didn't watch, but they say he went berserk, smashed his head on the table and started putting shattered glass to his skin. He goes to rehab; Zayn never visits.

He loses Niall. The last time he sees him, his best friend slaps him across the face and tells him the next time they'd talk would be at a funeral. Turns out they don't have to wait long.

It's almost a year to the day that Harry dies. He drives a brand new Ferrarri off a bridge. The public think it was an accident, but the hush hush in their circle is that it was much less than that. Anne refuses to let him in the actual church for the mass, but Niall at least stops to shake his head at him. Zayn is whacked out of his mind. Whatever junkie he's been hanging out with that week had told him it'd be funny to show up in red.

"Go home to your Mum, Zayn," Niall says sadly. Zayn snorts and stumbles off to find some weed or e or anything to forget Harry and his stupid angel face and the way he used to say _Jaanu_.

—

He does actually go home for a while. His Mum takes all the drug, and all his money, and the keys to his car and he detoxes from the poison. Every once and a while he reads a paper and it says ' _Where in the world is Zayn Malik?_ '. Everyone thinks he's bunked off to some exotic island.

Zayn cuts his hair and smokes to stop the shakes and gets to know his sisters again. After leaving home at eighteen, he never really did get to see them. That was five years ago, when Harry was still around. ( _Harry_ , he thinks, and he cries and cries and cries because he's killed his best mate, too high to care when he begged him to stay.)

His Mum goes through his phone and makes him delete almost everyone. He's not sure how he convinces her to keep Liam's number.

—

Zayn's in London to talk about a contract, and he sees him by chance.

He looks different; his hair is cut shorter and he's buffer. He's wearing a footie pullover and laughing at a girl's joke. Their eyes meet for a moment, just before he steps into a cab. Liam smirks at him, and Zayn is almost certain he feels his cheeks get hot.

But it's as simple as that, and the cabbie drives away. Zayn heads into his meeting and signs a three year contract with Island Records.

He cracks a window in the Escalade and takes a long drag of his fag, sunglasses blocking his eyes from the flashing lights. His phone buzzes in his pocket.

_you look well._

Zayn smirks. He'll have to call Liam this weekend.


End file.
